


Darkest Dreams

by psychicfiredemoness



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Pokemon, Blood, Human/Vampire Relationship, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Kinda, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Sexual Content, Soft Rock/Heavy Metal Shipping, Vampire AU, Violence, some gore, victorian au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:34:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27466531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychicfiredemoness/pseuds/psychicfiredemoness
Summary: With no home or family, Piers will hardly be missed when it's decided that he will be sacrificed to the vampire that has taken up residence nearby. The creature is not what it seems and rather than feasting on him, takes Piers in. Gentle and kind, a far cry from the fiend he expected, Piers finds himself looking at this monster as something else entirely.
Relationships: Nezu | Piers/Tsuwabuki Daigo | Steven Stone
Comments: 60
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A HUGE thank you goes to BinaBina for all their help and support in creating this fic! Without them I wouldn't have come up with the idea. :3  
> And another big thanks to my best friend who has been my beta reader and helping me edit.

The howling wind and pounding rain wasn’t enough to cover up the screams coming from inside the wagon. Piers shouted until he was hoarse in a desperate bid for help that he knew, deep down, wouldn’t come. After all, the only people that could have saved him were the ones that had done this.

Ropes bound his wrists and tethered him to the wall of the wagon. It was a little thing with barely room enough to move, not that he could bound as he was, the wagon used to cart livestock to the nearest town nearly half a day away. It was cramped inside, rotten straw and feathers scattered across the floor and walls and stuck against smears of manure that choked the breath from his raw throat, no windows to vent the foul air that steeped in his lungs. His mind reeled, fighting against his binds until he could feel the hot, sticky blood running down his wrist, rough fibers biting into delicate flesh.

He had come into the village only days before and the small population had seemed welcoming enough, if not a little suspicious. There wasn’t much need for a traveling musician but it was the only thing for miles and a nice enough place to lay low for a while. Or so he had thought. Only in the village for a day and the townsfolk had been gearing up for a fight, a fight that he had wanted no part of. All things considered he was surprised the superstitious lot hadn’t strung him up at the first sign of trouble.

Several children had fallen to fever on his second day in the village, and the entire populace was convinced that it was the work of a vampire of all things. He hadn’t thought them so backwards when he had arrived, believing in fairytales in that day and age, but given their relative exclusivity he should have expected it. What was worse is they were placing the blame squarely on whoever owned the estate overlooking the village from a nearby mountain. He had seen the grandiose home when he had come to the village, wondered who would build such a thing out in the middle of such nothingness, and had then forgotten about it until someone from the village militia came to him, tried to recruit him to their fool’s errand. He wished he hadn’t turned them down now, but that probably wouldn’t have helped him.

The militia had returned late into the night. They were groaning and nursing their wounds as they gathered at the inn, Piers bundled up in thin rags as tightly as he could and buried under the warm, dry straw of the adjoining stable. He had heard only a little through the thin walls as he tried to sleep. It sounded like their plans hadn’t gone off as seamlessly as they had hoped and they were regrouping, planning something in fearful shouts that he didn’t hear as sleep mercifully overtook him and let him forget the mites that bit at his skin and the stabbing pain in his stomach.

He was awakened late in the day by someone grabbing his ankles and wrenching him out of the straw. Startled, he grabbed at his meager possessions before they could be lost to the mass of pale golden grain and he was dragged free, hands clutched tightly around his bag and a guitar older than himself. At first he had thought it was the innkeeper, angry that he was sleeping there in secret and free of charge. It was the village militia, nearly half a dozen of them. They were all in various states of disrepair. Broken bones were set with sticks and torn cloth, blood clotted against scalps, and every size and shape of gash had been hastily dressed. Every face scowled at him under the first rumbles of thunder as a storm began to darken the midday sky.

For a moment he thought to apologize, or to ask what had happened on their crusade. He didn’t get the chance as two of the men grabbed him by the arms and started to drag him to the tiny wooden wagon that lay nearby, a pair of horses collared and ready to carry their burden. What were they about to do him? Rain pelted his face and roused him from his stupor. He hadn’t known what they intended for him then, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to go without a fight.

Piers dug his heels into the ground and dropped his bag. He ripped his left arm free of one of his captors, the man startled by the sudden resistance. Piers had just raised his fist when one of the other men jumped in and slammed a much meatier punch into Piers’ face; his nose crunched and burst with blood as he toppled back. The other man that had been holding him let Piers fall and he blindly whipped his other arm around in the fray; his heart shattered when he heard the melodic splinter of wood breaking over something solid. One of the men fell upon him and quickly grabbed Piers’ wrists, a length of old rope looping quickly around them. Piers kicked at them, his feet flailing wildly in the air until they connected with one of the men.

Piers scrambled to his feet, driven by terror and adrenaline, and shoved passed two of the men descending on him. Someone tackled him to the ground and another stamped down on his back, knocking the wind from his lungs as a villager kicked him in the ribs. He couldn’t react as several of them dragged him up and carried him to the wagon, throwing him in and tying him to one of the iron bars that ran along the wall of the wagon. He screamed and rushed towards his only escape, his wrists catching painfully against their bindings as the door closed before him and trapped him in darkness.

That had been hours ago. At least, he assumed it had been hours since he had been stuffed into this tiny cage like an animal. There was no real way of telling what was happening outside as a pair of men from the militia drove their horses up a rocky road. The thin cracks of light between the rickety planks of the wagon had slowly darkened as the storm raged on into the night. Rain dripped down from between the poorly-fitted boards and the occasional flash of lightning did nothing to help Piers gain his surroundings. All he knew was that they had been moving up an incline for some time now.

At first the drivers had been chatty with him, even sounding the slightest bit remorseful. As they had explained the situation to him, he realized that they weren’t apologizing, they were explaining away their guilt. Sometime after the militia had been single-handedly beaten back by the vampire (a claim Piers knew was as fictitious as the creature, he was certain) and returned home they had come to a tragic decision. Having only enraged the fiend by attacking it, the villagers had agreed that drastic action need be taken; a human sacrifice was the logical next step.

The men driving the wagon explained that Piers was a stranger, a wanderer who wouldn’t be missed. They told him how they couldn’t send their own children or sisters or mothers to the slaughter. But they assured him that they would remember his sacrifice. Piers wished he had never come to that backwater little village. He surely would have survived a few more days without food if he had passed them by and pressed on to the next town. He didn’t even know if he would live to regret his decision.

Piers was knelt down, leaning against the cold wooden wall of the wagon, half-asleep or half-dead, he wasn’t sure anymore, when the horses stopped and whinnied nervously. A faint orange light bobbed outside the wagon but did little to illuminate the black interior of his cage. He heard the whine of a metal gate being opened over the scream of wind and with a sinking feeling knew that they had reached their destination. He felt the cart lurch forward and then stop again.

The orange light wobbled around the side of the wagon and towards the back. He could hear the bolts being undone on the door. Rain whipped him in the face as the door opened, a blast of freezing air hit him and stung his ragged flesh. One of the men held out a lantern that flickered weakly against the inky night. The other man crept inside when Piers didn’t rise from his place on the floor, doing his best to look like the fight was out of him as his long hair hung in a tangle around his face. The man undid the rope chaining him to the bar and Piers took his chance.

With the last of his energy Piers barreled into the man and knocked him out of the wagon and onto the flooded ground. Piers toppled down alongside him and rose to his feet but the man he had attacked grabbed for Piers’ ankle and sent him down into a patch of sharp gravel. Lightning revealed a gigantic manor several dozen meters off though the windows all remained dark once the flash had subsided. Panic welled inside him and he kicked the man that held his leg, his foot connecting squarely with the man’s face. The villager’s howl of pain was lost against the storm as Piers got to his feet, forgetting the other man until a heavy blow struck him in the gut. He collapsed and vomited bitter bile into the deluge flowing around his knees.

One of the men struck the side of his face and Piers fell back to the rocky ground. He had nothing left as they tied his ankles and carried him, the imposing manor looming closer with each flash from the sky. When they threw him across the yard, not willing to draw closer to the evil house, he simply rolled across the rain-slicked ground and came to rest with his cheek in a puddle; he struggled to turn away, spitting water and mud as his body failed to move.

He needed to move.

He heard the villagers call something to him over the howl of the wind. The horses whinnied loudly and he could feel the pound of their hooves against the ground before fading away as he lay there, desperately trying not to drown.

He was going to die.

Every movement was agony as he wiggled, rain soaking him down to the bone as it poured over him in icy sheets. He had barely managed to move away from the little pool that had threatened him. How was he going to manage his way across the yard, let alone undo his bindings? And if he did escape what then? It wasn’t like he could return to the village. But he was too stubborn to give up now, even if every sharp drop of rain felt like glass on his skin.

Through some miracle he managed to drag his hands towards his face, his teeth working at the half-rotted ropes that bound his wrists together. He was so absorbed by the sweet thoughts of freedom that he scarce noticed when a warm glow enveloped him. It was all he could do to crane his neck and see a man standing over him, a lantern in one hand and an umbrella in the other.

This man had to be the Master of the House. He was well-dressed in a fitted suit and he had an imposing air about him. The stranger stared down at Piers with such intensity it was as if those steel blue eyes were boring into his soul, his mouth falling slightly open in his examinations of the half-drowned man at his feet. If Piers could have squirmed he would have, but he barely had the energy to even acknowledge the stranger.

Without warning the man let his umbrella fall to the ground and set his lantern down. He scooped Piers into his arms as if he weighed nothing. The man’s grip was easy but firm as he ran towards the manor’s entrance. He managed to open the door while balancing Piers in his arms and called for someone.

The warm air of the entry hall blistered Piers frozen skin, electric lights sparking to life and illuminating the room. A bespectacled man appeared from a door to the side and took Piers with gentle arms as the Master of the House tore apart the knots holding him captive as easily as if they were made of paper.

“You’re safe now,” the Master of the House told him, his voice soft and warm and full of a sweetness that Piers was unaccustomed to. It was sharp contrast to the imposing aura he seemed to radiate. “Maxie, please see to him and his wounds.”

“Of course, Master Steven,” the bespectacled man, Maxie, helped steady Piers on his feet and slowly guided him towards one of the wide staircases leading to the next floor.

Piers couldn’t help but glance back at his savior, grateful for the kindness though he was suspicious of it. The man flashed him a toothy smile when he caught Piers looking. A trick of the light and his exhaustion made it look like the man’s canines were sharpened to a dangerous tip. It was all he could think about, his mind hyper-focused, as he was led upstairs to a private bathroom and helped into a piping hot bath. Various events had stripped away any modesty he might have had, but he was still grateful when Maxie left him to bathe.

The water turned pink around him as Piers washed the grime and blood and tears from his body; he wondered if the pristinely white tub would stain from the filth of him. Much as he wished it, he couldn’t sink into the hot water and relax. There was a reason the villagers were afraid of the Master of the House, and while this mysterious Steven had been more accommodating than anyone Piers had ever met, he couldn’t help being wary. His mind wandered back to the entry hall and those sharp teeth. Fangs. No, there wasn’t even a chance such things existed. And yet he was _sure_ of what he had seen.

Piers pushed the thought away and forced his head underwater to scrub the soap from his hair. He rose with a gasp and left the tub with all the grace of a newborn deer, his legs almost buckling as he made his way to the marble counter to grab one of the fluffy towels that Maxie had left him. From across the counter his reflection mocked him under the cheery glow of the electric lights, a rarity he had only seen in the largest of cities until now, and only once experienced in a home that he didn’t want to ever think about again.

A large bruise had formed on the side of his face and his nose, while not feeling broken, had turned a vicious shade of purple to match. Cuts decorated his bony frame, bright against his pale skin as they began to ooze with fresh blood. He looked almost as terrible as he felt. He definitely wouldn’t make a good meal.

A knock at the door startled him away from his thoughts and his legs crumpled under him this time. He hated this feeling of weakness, of the constant, aching exhaustion that plagued him. There was no way he could stay here if there was a monster under the same roof, but he doubted the storm would be so acquiescent to his needs.

“Sir.” Oh thank god it was Maxie. “I’ve brought you something to eat. I _assume_ you are finished with your bath?”

Piers’ stomach screeched with need. The sudden pain preoccupied him from anything else, let alone Maxie’s smart remark. Driven by hunger, Piers climbed to his feet with the help of the counter and made his way to the door, his towel only barely clinging to his hips when he opened it.

Maxie was frowning at him but Piers didn’t see it. All he could focus on was the tray in Maxie’s hands, a steaming bowl of broth and the hunk of dark bread laying neatly on it. It looked like sweet ambrosia and Piers couldn’t have imagined a finer meal in all the world. Maxie must have caught Piers’ drooling expression because he then bade the starved man to sit on the large bed, a medical bag nestled on the sheets.

The bed dipped comfortably under Piers’ inconsequential weight and Maxie settled the tray over his lap. Piers lost no time in attacking his meal, the most food he had seen in a week. The broth was perfectly flavored, the taste of chicken lingering on his tongue as it slid down his throat in large, burning gulps.

“Pace yourself,” Maxie warned as he opened the doctor’s bag. He fished out bandages and a small sealed jar. “If you eat too quickly you’ll throw it all back up. And I will not be cleaning your bedding.”

Piers nearly choked on the chunk of savory rye in his mouth.

Maxie looked at him disapprovingly, perhaps for his manners, as he carefully dabbed a foul-smelling, slightly greenish paste over the cuts on Piers’ face with little regard that the man was eating.

“You will be staying with us. As are the Master’s orders,” Maxie went on to explain as though Piers had little choice in the matter. “Do not squander his generosity.” There was a warning in his voice.

Piers was quiet as he finished his meal, too tired for anything but the constant niggling thought stuck in the back of his head. When Maxie had finished rendering aid, his gentle bedside manner a surprise given his callousness at Piers’ presence, he picked up the tray and the doctor’s bag before leaving. The redheaded man returned a few moments later with a set of night clothes for his guest, the familiar scowl on his face as he dryly wished him a good night.

Piers changed into the soft cotton pants, ignoring the shirt in order to let his battered skin breathe, clean and smelling like lavender from what he imagined was expensive soap. He crawled across the downy mattress and slipped beneath thick blankets, soft warmth wrapping around him at once. He felt around the crystal lamp on the nightstand to his left until he found the chain and gave it a sturdy pull. Darkness fell over the room, quiet aside from the rain pattering against the curtained windows.

He waited with his eyes on the door, waited for it to be slowly drawn open and let the fiend inside. Thoughts of being pinned to the bed, of his throat being torn open and sucked as he was slowly consumed by the beast filled his head. Nothing happened, and in a moment’s time he was soundly asleep in the monster’s den.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets a bit violent and gory. If you want to skip those bits it starts at [The wind had been knocked from him as Steven hit the ground] and it ends at [Steven screamed himself awake hours, maybe days later]
> 
> A big thank you to everyone who has been supporting this silly little endeavor of mine. I appreciate all the comments and kudos and hope to continue to entertain you all. :3 <3

The storm continued to rage outside as the clock in Steven’s study chimed for the fourth time and fell silent once more. It was early and he still had work to do but his mind was hazy from the previous night’s events. Rather, it was hazy from thoughts of the man that had been dumped onto his property like refuse. His mind crept once more to his guest, nameless and lovely, and hopefully resting comfortably in one of the guest rooms.

When Steven had heard the clang of his front gate, he had assumed it was the villagers coming to attack once more, a stealth maneuver in the pouring rain; he knew it would go in their favor as well as it had the day before. A heavy sigh had left him as he rose from his desk to deal with the intruders. 

The manor house predated their little village by more than a decade, yet at the time, they had felt comfortable enough to build their little township below his domain. His relationship with the village had always been tenuous at best, the residents making no effort to veil their animosity for the wealthy man on their mountain. When they had discovered what he was, any chance of affability between them had burned up. Now it wasn’t even safe for his staff to make their way into the village, not that there had ever been a real need for such things.

Over the years the villagers had made multiple attempts on his home and his life, coming up the winding mountain pass with pitchforks and torches at the ready any time some ill fortune had befallen their people. They were little more than a nuisance, more a bother to his staff than to him. With each trespass he sent them back home a little worse for wear, careful never to do more than batter their flesh and bruise their egos. After all, they had families to provide for, people back home that relied on them. He wasn’t so callous as to take a life, regardless of their intentions for his own.

He had been sure it was going to be the same as every time before when he stepped into the frigid night, a lantern in hand to draw their attention in the dark. In a way he pitied them, but they were too mired in their own fears to see beyond his fangs and… unique lifestyle. He had thought– rather he had hoped –that in time they would come around and accept that he wasn’t the bloodthirsty monster they painted him as. He was disappointed when they proved to be just like everyone else.

When he had arrived around to the front of his home he had been surprised not by a mob but a single person, huddled in the mud only feet from the open gate, the heavy iron swinging wide in the wind. Though the downpour made it difficult at his distance, Steven could see that the person wasn’t moving. He could smell the blood as it mingled and diluted with the rain and for a moment thought the worst. They stirred.

Steven was there in a heartbeat. A wisp of a man lay half-prone at his feet, battered and bloodied and covered in mud, his hands and feet bound together by thick rope. He hadn’t seemed to notice Steven, too busy tearing at the bindings on his wrist with his teeth. To his utter shame, Steven hadn’t immediately stooped to help him. He had been too transfixed to even move.

Never had Steven put much stock into the supernatural, before or after his transformation. But this man could not have been a mere mortal. There was something about him, some ethereal quality that Steven couldn’t explain. The stranger seemed to glow in the night, drawing Steven to him in a way the man had never experienced in all his long life. He wanted to lean closer, to touch him, but feared that he would be unworthy of such a delight.

The man had turned to face him. Pale perfect eyes like gems shone under the lantern’s light and regarded him with unbidden fear. Steven had felt his heart sink. He was used to that look, but it felt wholly different coming from _him_. Clarity had returned and he dropped his load, scooping the man up at once and spiriting him into his darkened home.

The clock struck five and forced Steven back to reality, to the mess of papers spread across his desk, to the man no longer out in the rain but tucked safely away under the same roof. His damned mind wandered again, the vaguest whisper of a thought hurtling his mind down dark channels of fantasy. Steven wanted desperately to touch him, to see all of him and to feel the man’s skin under his fingers and mouth, to see those lovely eyes wide with pleasure instead of fear. He wanted to savor the sweet tang of the man’s blood across his tongue, a nectar so delectable he could scarce imagine the taste. Had there ever been a creature more wondrous, more sublime? Could this man–

No. Steven pushed the hope from his mind and buried it deep in his heart. There wasn’t even a chance.

Steven gave up on the trade agreement in front of him, turning in his chair to stare at the dismal grey morning beyond his window. Days like this were befitting a thing like him, he supposed. He hated the cold miserable rain just on the other side of the glass, missing the golden glow of the sun on his skin that wouldn’t come again until spring. It was the only warmth he had allowed himself since his change, and it had been a surprise to learn that he could still enjoy such a thing without withering and burning away. There had been a lot he had learned since his change.

His mind wandered again, spanning back nearly three centuries ago.

It had been a normal morning when he had saddled his horse and stowed away a parcel of documents, much like the ones he had been ignoring all morning. He had waved his father goodbye– all these years later and the thought of his father still choked the breath from Steven’s lungs, his eyes watering over the loss –and made his way from their home for the next town.

He had been deep in the woods and halfway to town, enjoying the fair weather and the gentle song of morning birds, when his horse had stopped. The animal dug its hooves into the ground, whinnying nervously and starting to toss. In the next moment his horse had reared up and thrown him from its back, taking off as though the Devil himself were on its tail.

The wind had been knocked from him as Steven hit the ground. Steven had begun to right himself, wondering what had spooked his steed, when an unearthly screech erupted from the forest. The hair on his neck stood on end as his blood turned to ice, stopping his heart. Before he could move, something was upon him, a flash of pallid grey flesh and razor-sharp talons forcing him onto his back and pinning him to the ground.

His clothes had been torn away with ease, pain tearing deep into his flesh. He thought to scream but his throat had been torn out by the hungry maw descending upon him. The sickly iron tang of blood was on his tongue, pitiful gurgles following the wave of blood flowing from his mouth. His guts were ripped open and torn apart as the beast held him to the ground, easily overpowering him as it supped upon its meal.

Steven remembered the way his vision had started to go dark, sticky cobwebs clouding out every thought except to survive. His mind screamed for him to move, to live. With the last of his strength he fumbled for his belt, the vile creature raking itself through him again and again as he grabbed for the knife at his hip. It was a little thing, the silver blade no longer than his outstretched palm, and he hoped it would be enough.

The body pressed into his own had let out a bloodcurdling shriek as the dagger stabbed into it, again and again as many times as Steven could, unwilling to let this _thing_ do this to someone else. Dark blood spurted angrily from the monster’s chest when it had reared and stumbled back, the hot ichor splashing into Steven’s face, burning his eyes and throat as he choked on his final breath.

Inky blackness had swirled over his eyes and a cold beyond compare crept up his body, numbing him from everything. The hacking, quivering breaths of the nearby monster faded into a pleasant, buzzing silence. Then there was nothing.

Steven screamed himself awake hours, maybe days later. He wasn’t sure of the time or of anything when he realized he was alive. It was impossible.

The moon had risen high in the sky, the silvery crescent unable to explain why he could see everything, could hear and feel everything with haunting clarity. The beast that had attacked him lay nearby, a mass of gnarled limbs still covered in blood and a look of rage etched over its sallow face; it was as still as the grave.

Steven had then looked to his own body. Beneath the tattered and blood-soaked remains of his shirt the flesh had knitted itself back together, as pale and smooth as before. He touched his throat and was shocked to find that intact as well, crusty blood dried around wounds that didn’t exist; he called out and his voice echoed across the dark forest.

His confusion was dwarfed by the sudden pain that had seized his body. Thirst, an agonizing, bone-deep thirst filled him body and soul. The need for something hot and sticky sweet running down his throat, filling him to the brim until it overflowed across his skin, overtook his mind.

His body had moved without him and began to lurch through the woods. He needed something, _anything_ to ease the pain of his hunger and he knew he wasn’t terribly far from the next town…

“Master?” Courtney peeked her head into his study and mercifully pulled him from his thoughts. How long had she been calling him?

“Breakfast is ready,” she told him. A deep frown suddenly covered her face. “Shall I wake our guest?” She sounded about as pleased as Maxie had been the night before. Steven couldn’t blame his staff’s wariness given their relationship with the village that had delivered the stranger.

“Let him sleep,” Steven commanded easily.

Courtney gave a polite nod and ducked back into the hallway.

The contracts could wait until he had eaten something. Foods that he had enjoyed in life could still bring him some level of pleasure though they were no longer as filling as they used to be, and heading to breakfast would grant him the perfect excuse to check in on his guest.

Steven rose from his chair and left his study, passing by the grand staircases and down the halls of his home until he found what he was looking for. The stranger’s heartbeat sung to Steven from behind a closed door. He pushed the door open mutely and gazed into the darkness.

Sometime during the night his guest has kicked away all of the blankets, preferring it seemed, to curl into a tight ball on one side of the mattress. Steven could see him shiver, no shirt to protect him from the morning cold. Dark bruises littered his skin, clear without the coat of muck from the night before, and bandages were wrapped tight around his wrists, still more dotting his wiry frame. Despite Maxie’s attitude about the situation, he had done an admirable job in caring for the man.

Steven crept soundlessly into the room, the potent stink of antiseptic mingling with the lavender scent of the man’s skin. His slumbering guest looked haggard, dark circles impressed around each eye, half his face a mess of even darker bruises. Once more Steven had the overwhelming urge to touch this man, to brush some of his black and white hair from his sleeping face, to place a kiss over his neck where Steven could hear the subtle thrum of blood coursing through his veins. Uncomfortable at his desires, Steven instead reached across the bed and pulled the blankets back up around his guest, making sure he was tucked into his dreams before leaving the room.

His thoughts continued to plague him as Steven quickly made his way out of the room and downstairs. A simple meal awaited him in the dining room, the long table as empty as it always was when he seated himself at the head of it. He hoped that his guest might join him there one day.

Coffee helped stabilize his mind and allowed Steven to gather his thoughts properly for the first time in hours. He allowed his mind to wander to the man upstairs, able to push away his more fantastic thoughts and focus on the more pressing issue.

Never before had the villages done something like this. They were predictable if nothing else. Calamity would hit them, they would gird themselves and attack, and then they would be sent home to lick their wounds until the next misfortune struck their numbers. That they had bound and beaten a man, left him to die on Steven’s front steps, was entirely new. They had only ever sent him withering looks and curses before, leading him to a number of conclusions. Perhaps this man was a criminal of some sort, and whatever trespass he had committed was worthy of death. That didn’t seem right, the man didn’t have the presence of someone with that sort of history.

More likely the man was convenient. The villagers must have grown fearful from their losses, the expectation of retribution becoming more and more likely with every failed attempt on his life. Maybe the man was nothing more than an appeasement, something to temper his monstrous wrath, an offering to the monster lurking high in the mountains.

Whatever the case, whether the man was condemned or simply unlucky, he was no friend to the people in the village below. If he would allow it, Steven would be too only happy to protect him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took much longer than the others. A big thanks to everyone that has been reading and supporting the story! <3 Comments are always appreciated and I hope you enjoy.

Piers woke late the next morning feeling more refreshed than he had in years. For several blissful moments he lay in the comfort of the feather bed, curled deeply into the thick blankets surrounding him, having forgotten how he had come to rest in such luxury. This wasn’t right.

He leapt out of bed, his legs catching on the sheets and sending him to the floor with a painful crash. Once he had detangled himself from his confines he hurried to the floor-length mirror across the room and checked every inch of his exposed flesh. He ignored the cuts and bruises that he already knew about and searched for the telltale prick of fangs on his skin. There was nothing along his neck or arms, on his chest or sides. Without having found a wound he became worried that the bite might be somewhere less conventional. Fear made his hands tremble as he pulled down his pants and examined himself, finding nothing but his battered skin beneath.

A knock at the door startled him and had him wrenching his pants back up at once. It wasn’t who he had expected, relief filling him as a woman’s voice called out from beyond the door. But it had been a silly of him to assume it would be the Master of the House calling on him, especially during the daylight hours.

“You awake in there? Are you decent, sir?” The woman sounded about as friendly as the butler had the night before. Piers had to wonder if it was just him that they didn’t like, or if they were simply that unhappy towards all their guests. Their employer was a far cry from their cold reception. He had been kind and warm, had made Piers feel safe.

He stopped himself before his mind could continue such treacherous thoughts. The creature that had taken him was just that, something vile and inhuman. Piers had no reservations about his survival. If he didn’t get out soon he knew that he would be eaten alive. A quick glance at the maelstrom outside told him he had to plan carefully if he was to escape.

Piers pulled on the soft cotton shirt he had discarded the night before and called back to the woman, “Decent enough.”

The door opened into the room and a maid walked inside. She was balancing a wooden tray filled to the brim with food against her hip and casting him an openly sour look. Piers ignored her withering expression, instead focusing on the feast that she carried under her arm. His stomach growled loudly and painfully from across the room.

The woman’s expression softened just a little. “I’ll bring up some clothes for you after you’ve finished your breakfast,” she explained settling the tray on the edge of the bed. “We can’t very well have you staying in your bedclothes all day.” She glanced back at him, looking him up and down. “But you’re just a little slip of a thing, aren’t you? And tall.” He got the impression that she wasn’t trying to insult him and that she was just this brusque with all her guests. “I’m sure we have something laying around that will fit you.”

Piers was tempted to ask if whatever was lying around had been from her master’s previous victims but held his tongue, his mind preoccupied by the wonderful scent of bacon wafting over to him.

“I am the head maid, Courtney,” she introduced as she headed for the door. “If you have need of anything ask me or one of the other maids. But do _not_ bother Maxie with anything trivial. I’ll leave you to your meal.” She closed the door quietly and Piers waited for the snap of the lock but it never came.

Piers pushed the thought from his mind as his stomach roared painfully. Fried eggs, bacon, sausages, fresh fruit and several slices of buttered toast tantalized him from ornate porcelain plates. As he ate, he couldn’t help wondering if he was being fattened up to be treated to such a meal.

He laid back on the bed after decimating his breakfast, trying unsuccessfully to remember the last time he had felt so full. The door opened and startled him into sitting up; it was the same maid from before. Without a word she set a pile of neatly folded clothes on the dark pinewood dresser next to the door. She grabbed the empty tray from the bed and left as quickly as she had come. Again, he didn’t hear the lock engage.

Piers waited several moments before slipping off the bed and creeping towards the door. He tried the handle and pulled the door open with ease. This had to have been some oversight on her part. Maybe the staff really wasn’t used to dealing with guests if the head maid of all people had forgotten to lock up their prisoner.

He ducked back into the room and closed the door as stealthily as he could before digging through the pile of clothes; starched-white bedclothes would hardly help him sneak around his prison undetected. Courtney had left several pieces for him, all too large for his wiry frame. The material was soft under his fingers as he searched for something suitable, much finer than anything he had felt before, let alone worn. He decided on a black shirt that hung loose around his chest and arms, and the smallest trousers he could find, a deep, earthy brown that he had to hold up with one hand so they didn’t drop back down. The ensemble was far from perfect but it would do well enough.

Piers crept back to the door and pulled it quietly open, peeking out into the hall and seeing no one. Maybe his luck was finally turning around. He snuck into the hall and closed the door behind him with a light click.

Even when he had first seen the mansion from down in the village it had appeared monstrously large. He couldn’t imagine the size of it now that he was trapped inside, a maze of corridors and rooms that would surely take more than a few hours snooping to memorize. That was if he didn’t get himself caught first. He was certain that Maxie would have no problem dragging him back to his room and throwing him inside before making doubly sure the door was locked. Piers swallowed hard and chose a direction in which to wander.

The longer that Piers explored the more disoriented he became by the winding hallways, unsure how to find his way back to his quarters as he met a dead end, a tall arched window stopped him from progressing any further. Rain pelted the glass, not nearly the storm it had been some hours before, and beyond he could see some of the estate’s grounds. Through the misty air he could make out patches of colorful flowers and the intricate stone paths that wound between the planters. Beyond the gardens appeared to be the entrance to an imposing hedge maze that stretched out so far into the distance the interior was swallowed up by the rain.

A door closed somewhere behind him making him jump. Piers whipped around to see a maid carrying a laundry basket with both hands. She was young, still in her teens, her large eyes going even wider when she spotted him. He could feel the air leave his lungs and the sweat break out across his skin, knowing he had ruined his only chance of escape.

The girl’s smile confused him. “Are you lost, sir?” She sounded pleasant, but maybe she was just naïve.

Her voice turned suddenly concerned. “Are you alright? You’ve gone all pale.”

It was strange that she wasn’t trying to drag him back to his room, but maybe she didn’t know he was a prisoner. Maybe he could get past her before she sounded the alarm. Doubtful, his ribs still throbbed with a dull ache at every breath and he knew he wouldn’t get far if he ran.

His voice came out in a croak, “F-fine.”

“You sure?” She pressed stepping closer, making Piers retreat towards the window. He glanced back to see how far below the ground lay. “Master Steven won’t like having a guest unwell.”

Piers almost scoffed as he turned back to her. It was more likely that the Master didn’t want his meat turning before it was time to feed.

“I’m fine,” Piers reassured looking over the maid’s shoulder. Her guard was completely down as she stood to one side of the hall. If he timed it right, maybe distracted her, he could get past without her noticing. But where would he go from there?

“If you’re sure…” The maid didn’t sound convinced as she shifted her load against her hip. She must have caught his look because she then asked, “I bet you’re going crazy, cooped up in your room all morning. You want to come downstairs with me? Maybe find you a belt for those pants?” She laughed cheerily and gestured to the hand still holding up his trousers.

It couldn’t have been that easy, he wasn’t that lucky ever before so why would he be now? Yet Piers had agreed, following her down the twist of hallways, the maid chatting with him like they were old friends as she guided him along.

“Mister Maxie said you were in a sorry state last night,” she spoke. “Hope you’re feeling better now. You are right?”

“Yeah,” Piers responded quietly as she chattered away. Her voice was a nice break in the silence, a distraction from the horror of his reality.

He tried to memorize her path through the corridors to the entry hall but it was no use, the zigzagging layout too complicated. Instead he followed her downstairs, watching her closely as she led him through another confusing series of hallways.

The manor’s first floor was abuzz with activity. Piers would have thought the lair of the beast would be near void of life, and it startled him to see the sheer number of servants bustling around as he and the maid passed through the manor’s lower level. Servants laughed and chatted as they went about their tasks, greeting the pair as they passed. They seemed too happy, too normal, to be in the employ of a bloodsucking monster; Piers couldn’t help glancing back at the staff but could find no sign of fangs among their smiles.

It was only after the maid had brought him to the laundry room that he realized he could have been walking into a trap. He scolded himself as she handed him a fine leather belt that blended near seamlessly against his trousers.

“Oi,” Piers called to her as he fitted the belt around his waist. The woman was sorting the linens in her basket, humming without a care. “What do you know about this Master of yours?”

She turned to him with a smile. “Master Steven? He’s a good one, real smart, started a whole business by himself with shops in all the big cities, bet you’ve seen some even. But I think he’s a little weird.”

Piers felt himself lean in to hear her explanation, to finally have some validation of his fears. “Yeah?” He pressed hopefully.

Her smile seemed to intensify. “He’s too nice to be a noble, treats us more like family than servants most of the time. He doesn’t like the big cities though, and doesn’t seem to like dealing with other noble-type folks.”

“That’s the only thing weird about him?” Piers pushed though he could feel himself deflate. He had to admit, he had been in a bad way the night before. Barely conscious and under the influence of the villagers’ accusations of vampires probably hadn’t been the best time to make any snap judgements about the man that had saved him. Maybe he had imagined everything.

She looked thoroughly confused. “What else would there be?”

An embarrassed flush started to rise to his cheeks. “Nothin’, forget I asked,” he deflected. She looked curious but was polite enough to drop it, instead asking if he needed anything else.

“Mind if I explore a bit?” He asked. “Ain’t never been in a house like this.” Well, never in a house quite this grand or welcoming. The memory sent a shudder through his spine that, blessedly, she either ignored or missed.

Her answer surprised him, certain he was about to be sent back upstairs and locked away.

“Sure,” she chirped, “If you need anything just let someone know.”

He left the maid to her task and slipped out of the laundry room. Maybe he had been wrong about the house being host to a cabal of bloodhungry fiends, but that didn’t make their hospitality any less suspicious. He began to walk, more mindful than he had been upstairs and slowly committing the winding halls to memory, checking each door to help get his bearings as he wandered.

The estate was bigger than he could have imagined. Already he had discovered a grand dining hall that could seat at least thirty guests, several closets, a lounge that he would have snooped in if it hadn’t been getting dusted, and at least three bathrooms that weren’t nearly as grand as the one attached to his chambers. Still he couldn’t find his way back to the entry hall and his key to his escape, the front doors.

He found another door and pushed it open. Warm air scented like fresh bread, sauteed onions, and roasting meat washed over him. His stomach growled at once, only just realizing how long he had been wandering around the manor.

“The road’s been washed out by another landslide-” Maxie cut himself off when he heard Piers’ traitorous stomach. The perpetual frown on Maxie’s face seemed to deepen when he turned and saw his unwanted guest.

Piers had the urge to run when the redheaded man made his way towards him. Maxie reached for him and gripped Piers’ wrist below the bandages, careful not to disturb them. The butler’s hold was unexpectedly gentle even when his eyes gleamed with irritation.

“Your wounds,” Maxie began, slowly turning Piers’ wrists to inspect the dressing, “I hope they aren’t causing you any trouble today?”

Piers relaxed at the hostility. He was used to this kind of treatment, though not with the vague undertone of concern behind it. “They’re fine,” Piers shot back tugging his hand away.

Maxie let him go easily, tutting at his guest. “I expect you’re hungry.”

Piers’ stomach growled again at the remark. Maxie almost looked like he smiled, if such a thing were possible.

“Tabitha,” Maxie turned to the young man rolling out dough. “Get our guest something to eat.” He turned back to Piers, his face furrowed and intense. “You’ll eat in the dining room with Master Steven. The _least_ you can do is provide him some company after all he’s done for you.”

Piers shut his mouth and stopped the objection half-formed on his tongue. Maxie was right, damn him, and Piers didn’t want to appear ungrateful. Still, he couldn’t help thinking this would all come at a cost. Despite the apparent sincerity of his savior, Piers wasn’t stupid enough to believe this generosity was simply out of the goodness of the man’s heart. Everyone wanted something. Usually a bit of coin or a hot meal was Piers’ going price; he didn’t want to even begin to think about what would be expected of him in exchange for his life.

Maxie escorted Piers out of the kitchen and down the hall to the large dining room that Piers had found in his wanderings. At the head of the table sat the Master of the House, a book lay open beside the bowl of stew he was slowly eating, a crystal glass filled with some dark liquid lay beside his meal. Maxie cleared his throat to announce them, his employer too engrossed by his novel to look up until he was purposefully interrupted.

“Master Steven, your guest wished to join you this evening,” Maxie lied easily.

Steven got to his feet, his lips pressed together in a warm smile and his eyes positively sparkling. “I’m glad to see you up, you’re looking much better. I’m Steven Stone,” he said and extended his hand towards Piers. “I’m pleased to finally meet you…” he trailed off slightly as Piers shook his hand.

“Piers,” Piers supplied after too long, distracted by the warm hand holding his own.

“I’m glad to meet you, Piers.”

The way Steven said his name, the way he looked at him, made Piers squirm as Steven pulled out the chair closest to his own and allowed Piers to sit before pushing him toward the table, so highly polished that Piers couldn’t help but ogle Steven’s reflection in it. He didn’t like to feel seen in this way, like maybe he mattered. It was always a lie, a clever coercion. He also didn’t like the way Steven closed his book and pushed it aside once Piers had joined him, the man’s attentions focused entirely on the scrawny bastard before him.

Piers was only half-aware when Maxie had settled a bowl of delicious-looking beef stew before him, Steven’s gentle voice filling Piers’ mind. He snapped back to reality when Steven sipped from his glass, the liquid inside a shade of deepest red that drained the blood from Piers’ face, all his previous suspicions hitting him.

“How rude of me,” Steven caught him staring and flushed with embarrassment, a strong argument for his humanity. “Would you care for some wine?”

Piers caught the strong, fruity aroma coming from the glass when it was offered to him. He relaxed into his chair and declined though it sounded like a luxurious treat; it was a shame that he always did something stupid when he drank.

The meal continued with ease, with Steven happy to guide the conversation between them. If Piers didn’t know better, he would have sworn the man was lonely. But Steven was sociable and charming, enough to elicit a few chuckles from Piers as they exchanged stories well into the evening. Piers couldn’t help but enjoy himself, letting his guard down more than he should have. For someone so wealthy, Steven was surprisingly down to earth, pleasant, and handsome– though this was a reluctant admittance.

It was a shame when their meal came to an end, Piers fighting to keep his eyes open as a clock across the room struck midnight. Steven excused himself from the table and offered his hand to Piers once more, his palm held upwards for Piers to take.

“May I escort you to your room?” Steven inquired.

“A gentleman,” Piers flirted back. He couldn’t help it, it was rare that he had such a good time, and even rarer that he enjoyed it with someone. He slipped his hand over Steven’s, the man drawing it up and kissing Piers’ knuckles.

All the blood rushed to Piers’ face but he didn’t pull away. For the first time in years he wanted to hope. Maybe things were changing, maybe Steven really was the proper gentleman that he appeared to be. The next moment Piers’ heart froze and shattered,

Steven was smiling, an attractive, toothy grin that was ruined by the pair of perfectly sharp fangs that kissed his lower lip. The pearly teeth winked at him under the glow of the chandelier. For a moment Piers forgot how to breathe, his skin growing cold against Steven’s warm flesh.

Piers ripped himself away from the monster, nearly tripping over the velvet-lined chair he’d been perched on, only inches away from this thing as he had eaten, blissfully unaware of the danger he had been in. He stumbled to his feet and backed towards the door until he felt the handle against his fingers.

“I can find it myself,” Piers bit at him and turned away, throwing himself from the room as quickly as he could and missing the devastation on his host’s face.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, there is some mentions of sexual assault in here so if you wish to skip it starts at [If my Master is a monster, what would call the person that did that] and ends at [“Hey,” Maxie’s voice called to him]. Hope you all enjoy, comments are appreciated as always.

Piers opened the top drawer of his dresser, the armaments he had been procuring over his captivity hidden beneath a layer of neatly folded shirts. There wasn’t much to the collection but he was at least starting to feel safer with the beast living so near to him. It was only through his explorations that Piers had discovered Steven’s room, the only locked door in the entire manor, was just a brisk walk from his own.

A pair of heavy silver knives shimmered dangerously up at him as he pushed the clothes aside. Beside the blades lay a small crucifix that he had found during one of his excursions outside his chambers– he still marveled that he hadn’t been locked away until the monster decided to feed on him –and a half-filled shaker of salt that he had nicked when procuring the knives from the kitchen.

A sudden knock at the door had him throwing the clothes back over his weapons and sliding the drawer shut as quietly as possible. It couldn’t have been lunchtime already could it? Ever since his dinner with that _thing_ , Piers had been taking his meals in his room and the staff had been kind enough to oblige him. Maybe kind wasn’t the right word.

If he had learned one thing in his stay it was that the staff, while mostly courteous, were fervently devoted to their Master. He was almost convinced that it was some dark magic enthralling them, but their smiles had turned to deep frowns whenever he touched on the subject with them. They were tolerant, and they certainly wouldn’t be supportive of his arming himself against the monster.

The door opened and Maxie presented himself. Of all people, Piers hadn’t expected him. With his injuries having healed Piers hadn’t seen much of the man in the last few days, no longer needing the occasional checkup. Maxie’s expression was more sour than normal as he regarded Piers.

“Walk with me,” he ordered, turned on his heel, and walked back out of the room.

Wary of the man’s intentions, Piers followed, closing the door behind him. Fear rose in his belly as he strolled some ways behind Maxie, enough that he could run if he needed to. He couldn't help wondering if he was finally healthy and well-fed enough to be sacrificed to the creature lurking down the hall.

“Don’t dawdle behind,” Maxie snapped slowing his pace enough for Piers to catch up. “I just want to talk.”

Maxie turned a corner, leading him away from the other side of the house where the vampire nested.

He’d bite. “About what?”

Maxie was blunter than Piers anticipated. “What do you think you know about vampires?”

Piers nearly choked on the retort that was half-formed on his tongue.

“Don’t act surprised. You’re well aware of what Master Steven is,” Maxie shot back. “Tell me then, what do you know?”

“They’re monsters,” Piers remarked.

Maxie’s eye gave a twitch and he stopped altogether. He pushed his glasses up and turned to Piers with a glower. “Monsters,” Maxie repeated with thinly-veiled disgust. “Then what would you call the people down in the village who beat you and threw you on our doorstep?”

Piers opened his mouth but nothing came out. He racked his brain for something to shoot back at him, not at all liking where this was going, or that he didn’t have an answer.

“I see,” Maxie snapped. “Let me ask you something else. If my Master is a monster, what would call the person that did that,” Maxie gestured to Piers’ hips, “to you.”

All the blood in Piers’ veins froze over at once, the air choked from his lungs. He had been too tired, too scared, to think about what had been seen that first night, when Maxie had tended his wounds. Some had been from the village, and some had been from his time in the capital, still healing when he had been dragged out of the stable and thrown into the cart.

Much as he wanted to avoid his thoughts, they crept into his mind with horrifying clarity. For as long as he could remember he had always done what he had needed in order to survive. Sometimes that had put him in danger, usually on his knees in some alley or bent over a crate in the shadows of a warehouse. Rarely had it meant crawling into bed to warm it, and only once had it been into the grand bed of a nobleman.

He should have known better, shouldn’t have agreed to go with the man back to his home, but the promise of coin and a hot meal after two days of nothing on his belly left him desperate. Electric lights had buzzed to life as the man ushered him into the master bedroom, ripped his clothes away without finesse and forced Piers face down into the mattress. Piers had gone away, far away as he always did, and screamed himself hoarse as the nobleman satisfied himself without a care.

Piers’ body had ached when they had finished. He had felt the bruises forming on his hips and thighs, the blood oozing up from his scalp where the man had held him down. He hadn’t cried when he was let up, wouldn’t allow it after having done this to himself. The man had laughed, told Piers how much he had enjoyed himself and how he hoped to use Piers’ services again. He was just getting Piers’ payment when the bedroom door flew open with the force of a hurricane.

A woman had stood in the threshold wearing the finery of a true lady, though the pure rage etched on her face was all he had been able to focus on. The wife.

She flew across the room with a shriek, something glinted in her hand before she had sliced it through the air. The blade had been so sharp that Piers hadn’t felt the pain, only the wetness of blood as his belly opened up. He had rolled away as she stabbed at him, the dagger embedding deep within the bed. The nobleman had shouted, tried to explain himself as Piers grabbed his things and ran from the house fueled by fear alone.

By some miracle he had gotten away and hidden himself amongst the refuse bins and rotting garbage in an alley until the bleeding had stopped. The wound hadn’t been especially deep, but it had crossed over his groin and up his belly. He didn’t want to think of what would have happened if the woman had cut the blade a few inches lower. It had been an uneasy night, his belly screaming at its emptiness.

When the morning came the city guards had been out in force, searching the streets for the vagrant that had broken into that noble house and attacked both the man and his wife. Piers didn’t remember how he had escaped the city, only that he was miles away by nightfall, in a small, backwards village.

“Hey,” Maxie’s voice called to him through a wall of cotton. “Just breathe. You’re alright. You’re safe here.”

Piers blinked up at the ceiling wondering how it had gotten there. It took him several dizzying moments to realize he was flat on his back, his head in Courtney’s lap as Maxie held Piers’ wrist and counted his pulse.

“Don’t get up yet,” Maxie advised.

He didn’t listen, his head spinning as he forced himself to his feet. Maxie held him steady and Courtney sighed, tutting as she left them and headed down the hall.

For the first time since meeting him, Maxie’s voice softened. “You fainted. I won’t pry, your affairs are you own, but I am sorry for whatever ill memory I made you drudge up.”

“‘m fine,” Piers said weakly as he was guided downstairs to the kitchens. Maxie made him sit while he fetched him a glass of water. “What were we talkin’ about?”

“You thinking my Master is some beast due to his unique circumstances,” the coolness to Maxie’s voice had returned, but not in full force.

“Unique circumstance– Are you mad? He drinks blood!” Piers snapped.

“How he survives is of little consequence. _You_ don’t know him, yet you have the gall to slander and disrespect him in his own home, which if you will recall, you have been welcomed into without question with nothing asked of you in return. Or had you forgotten that?”

Piers closed his mouth feeling the embarrassment rise up in his cheeks. Maxie wasn’t wrong, his Master had been kinder than anyone Piers had ever met, suspiciously so. He glared down at the glass he held, a fine crystal cup that glittered in hands unworthy to hold such splendor.

Maxie sighed. “I do not expect you to understand, but Master Steven is a good man, better than most. Without him I would never have been afforded a place in medical school, and many of the staff would still be living on the streets or probably back in prison. Speaking of which…” His eyes landed on Piers. “I ask that you return the things that have conspicuously gone missing. You are allowed to wander the halls at my Master’s word, but I will not hesitate to lock you up if I think you would ever harm him.”

Piers swallowed hard. Maybe he hadn’t been as careful as he had thought.

“That all?” Piers scoffed, defiant to hide anything else.

Maxie stared hard at him. “Just think about it. You’re more than well-enough to leave if you wanted to. Just say the word and I’d be happy to return you the village, after all they aren’t monsters, right?” He turned and left the kitchen.

Piers was alone with his thoughts for far too long, Tabitha eventually wandering into the kitchen to start the evening meal. The boisterous cook only let Piers leave after making sure he’d had his fill of supper. As he left the kitchen with a full stomach Piers couldn’t help thinking about the creature that had been housing him.

He didn’t like how Steven made him feel that night they had shared a meal. It had been so much easier to live in fear, to convince himself that Steven was this awful, inhuman thing ready to pounce at a moment’s notice, than to admit he had enjoyed being around him. All his life he had been on the fringe, trying desperately to get in, yet here was someone even further removed from humanity that was ready to welcome him, to keep him safe. Piers wasn’t sure what to do with this unfamiliar kindness.

Piers cursed as he made his way up the stairs, turning away from the hall to his room and searching for the locked door. When he found Steven’s room he knocked, timid at first, before banging his knuckles so hard against the wood that they hurt. The man was too much of a gentleman to not answer and when the door remained shut Piers knew the Master of the House wasn’t there. He turned and wandered away.

When he reached Steven’s study the door was ajar, and he could hear voices just inside. Piers crept up to spy on the conversation, his ears straining.

“This isn’t enough,” Maxie scolded, his voice near unfamiliar with the worry in it. “Food will only sustain you so much, you need to drink more.”

“This is fine, Maxie,” Steven assured. “I’ll be fine.”

There was a pause and for a moment Piers worried he had been found out. His chest heaved with relief when Maxie continued.

“How long have I been with you now?”

Steven chuckled playfully from beyond the door, the sound doing something to Piers’ chest. He ignored it and listened. “Which time?”

There was no mirth in Maxie’s voice when he answered. “All together.”

“Near twenty years I’d say,” Steven supplied.

“And how long have I been a doctor?”

“At least twelve–”

Maxie didn’t let his Master finish, perhaps a sign of their familiarity, his voice raising. “Which means I know what I’m talking about. I’ve studied your condition at length and I know you aren’t consuming enough. I know you don’t like to but you need to–”

“Maxie,” Steven’s voice was tired but firm. “I appreciate that you’re concerned but really, I’ll be alright. You would be the first to know if I wasn’t. Thank you for bringing me this but I’m sure you have other business around the house. You don’t need to worry.”

Maxie’s sigh could be heard all the way to the door, his footsteps approaching. Piers jumped away but was caught by the man leaving the study, a glare aimed firmly at the thin man, but said nothing as he walked away.

Piers poked his head into the room, the apology dying on his lips when he saw Steven. Much as he had been trying to tell himself that Steven wasn’t the beast that he’d convinced himself of, it was difficult not to when he saw the man draining the contents of a little glass bottle. Thick red liquid dripped down the sides as Steven emptied to container into his mouth. This time Piers knew it wasn’t wine.

A choking noise left him before he could stop it. Steven looked up at once, bringing the bottle down and smearing his lips with crimson. He brought his hand up to cover his mouth looking embarrassed; when he took his hand away a moment later his face was clean.

“I’m so sorry you had to see that,” Steven confessed, a tiny but nervous smile playing across his lip, as if expecting some trick. “But I’m pleased to see you. Was there something I could do for you, Piers?”

It was his name that pulled his attention away from Steven’s mouth, his stomach clenched at the thoughts swirling around his head. “What? No, nothin’, I just wanted to see you.”

Steven perked up at once. Piers had to look away and collect himself, embarrassed for the man’s enthusiasm. He didn’t know why Steven was so excited, sure Piers had fled every time he had seen the man in the last few weeks, but it wasn’t like they were so close that Steven should look grateful for his company.

“I just… I’m goin’ to try and look at you different,” Piers explained.

“How do you mean?”

“Like you ain’t some sorta monster.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaah, I'm so excited for the next few chapters. Things are about to start popping off! I hope you all enjoy. Comments are always appreciated and greedily gobbled up.

The perpetual gloom that had fallen over the estate was finally gone. For the first time in weeks Steven was able to the enjoy the warm sunlight and crisp morning air against his skin. He doubted there would be many more days like this before snow overtook the grounds. It was the perfect time to stroll through the gardens, the days growing ever shorter as winter rapidly approached; his only wish was that he could enjoy the walk with his guest on his arm. A sour chuckle left Steven’s throat.

Piers had only just decided to stay there with them, with _him_ , and Steven couldn’t help indulging in a few of these fantasies. The recent company had been a delight, Piers having taken his evening meals alongside Steven for the last several nights. Slowly, Steven had begun to watch that icy exterior melt away and a warm, gentle man peek his way out with each passing night. Steven was grateful that Piers was even trying given his previous hesitation. By no means were things perfect, but they were certainly getting better.

He stopped on his morning walk to examine the rose bushes, or rather what was left of them. Lavender petals were littered across the planters and the stone path winding around them. Some of the buds had been ripped clean off the plants and several of the bushes looked like they had been trampled underfoot, stems splintered and broken all over the place; whoever had done this must have been in quite the rage. Little drops of blood went almost unnoticed among the scattered petals, leading towards the hedge maze.

Steven followed the trail, the drops bright against the pure white stone that had been inlayed. There wasn’t enough blood to pique his senses, the scent wasn’t near strong enough to alert him to who had been injured, but the sight was more than enough to twist his stomach with hunger.

A long time ago he had vowed never to take more than he needed, supplementing his diet as much as he could with the foods that he could still enjoy in his undeath. It was never enough and the little droplets he hunted after only reminded him of the dull ache that was his constant companion.

Maxie was right, of course. He had studied Steven and his condition for years. Once the man had completed his medical schooling, Steven had never expected him to return to his service, having hoped that Maxie would have done more with his life than serve a monster like him. Still, Steven was grateful to Maxie and the rest of the staff. They were his only family and he couldn’t help the rush of guilt he felt every time they volunteered to be drained into a little bottle so he might continue to live.

He pushed the thoughts away and focused on the trail, reminding himself that he would be fine just as he had been every time before. The blood led him into the maze, disappearing after only a few turns of the twisted path. The damage to the plants had been recent, the blood still bright with freshness, and Steven knew whoever had injured themselves had likely only retreated into the maze to avoid a verbal lashing from Maxie once the vandalism was discovered.

It wasn’t an uncommon thing, the servants challenging the large maze in their spare hours or even on their days off, but the majority didn’t know the full layout. Oftentimes the staff had to be rescued by their Master after several hours of tireless wandering, never even reaching the small garden at the center of the maze. Steven on the other hand knew every twist and turn, which path led to a dead end or an exit.

He worked his way along silently, straining his ears to pick up anything, footsteps, breathing, the snag of clothing against the hedge. Instead, he heard what sounded like song, sad and soft and still so far away. He followed the sound in earnest, the voice becoming clearer as he wandered deeper into the maze.

Steven reached the center of the maze, stopping as soon as the path opened up into the inner garden. The planters here were untouched allowing the lilies and tulips and hydrangeas to bloom unhindered. A large, round multitiered fountain babbled happily from the very center of the maze’s inner garden. Sitting along the edge of the fountain was Piers. His back was turned to Steven, none-the-wiser to the man’s approach, and he was singing more beautifully than any angel. His voice boomed across the quiet garden though his song was sweet, tinged with a melancholy that dug itself deep into Steven’s heart.

The song ended on a sorrowful note and Piers sighed, staring at an entrance back into the maze. Steven was unable to resist after such a treat, and he exploded in applause. Piers whipped around at once, his long hair splashing against the water trickling down from the fountain. His face went bright red realizing he had had an audience, and the glare he sent Steven looked more like a pout. He was adorable either way.

Steven approached his guest, noticing the state of Piers’ hand when the man pushed his thick bangs out of his flustered face. His fingers and palm were raw with scratches, sweet-smelling blood drying between the fingers and taunting Steven; his other hand appeared curiously unharmed.

“I had no idea you sang,” Steven admitted taking a seat beside the man; his heart fluttered when Piers didn’t move away. “Your voice is truly beautiful.”

The flush across Piers’ face deepened immeasurably. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Been singin’ as long as I can remember. Used to have a guitar and play in any place that would have me. Ain’t much of a livin’ but I liked it. Never been able to do much about it, but music’s always made me happy.”

Rarely did Piers volunteer anything about himself. During their evening meals he was more apt to listen, and when he did speak, he had been careful never to reveal too much. Steven couldn’t help but greedily press for a little more.

“Used to? What happened to it?” He asked.

Piers’ expression fell and Steven knew he had overstepped. It surprised him when Piers answered.

“Got smashed down in the village when they–” He stopped and looked to Steven, his face softening almost to the point of a smile. “Before I came here.”

“I’m sorry,” Steven lamented. An idea started to form in his head.

Piers sighed and shook his head. “Don’t be. It was a piece of garbage, barely holdin’ together with wire and wax.” He frowned at the memory. “But it was mine.”

Steven rose from the broad edge of the fountain, pulling his tie loose and offering his hand to Piers. “I’ve got something to show you.”

He couldn’t help but notice the way Piers’ eyes narrowed at his words. After a moment’s hesitation, Piers took the hand he was offered. Steven quickly slipped his tie out from around his neck, and gently wrapped it around Piers’ ravaged hand before taking it and slipping it into the crook of Steven’s arm. He settled his other hand on top of Piers’ when the man didn’t try to escape the hold, and was further delighted when Piers gave Steven’s arm the slightest squeeze.

“Didn’t think you could go out into the sun like this,” Piers voiced once Steven began leading them out of the maze. He was in no hurry, though he did want Maxie to take a proper look at his guest’s wounds.

Steven chuckled. “There’s a lot of misinformation about vampires. Most of it is propaganda I assure you.”

“Like what?” Piers pressed.

Steven was aware that at one point the very man on his arm had been arming himself against the monster that hosted him. That time had thankfully passed, and he didn’t see the harm in telling Piers more.

“You’ve seen that I can eat like anyone else,” he began, “but sunlight doesn’t harm my kind, nor does garlic or silver or any holy artifacts. We can cast a reflection and cross running water, and while we sleep less than the average human, it certainly isn’t in a coffin or crypt.”

“So is there anythin’ that’s true?” Piers frowned as if the magic of the world had been stripped away, and Steven supposed in a way it had.

“The immortality, assuming we aren’t killed or become feral. We have sharper senses and greater speed and strength. We can be injured but regenerate quickly enough. Our hunger increases greatly depending on the severity of the wound,” Steven explained thinking back to his own turning, how overwhelmingly hungry he had been after his stomach had knitted itself back together.

“Sounds like drinkin’ blood’s the only downside to this,” Piers scoffed as they turned a corner.

“Precisely why we’ve done so much to filter misinformation amongst the public,” Steven told him. He could see the realization come over Piers’ face as the words settled into his mind.

“So everythin’ everyone knows is a lie?”

Steven nodded and continued, “Could you imagine how many people would seek us out for turning? How many lust after immortality now? How many more would if they knew they only needed to drink a little blood after sharing some of their own? The Elders– the vampires that control each region –keep very close track of how many turnings there are.”

Piers let out a shiver that had nothing to do with the cool wind blowing across the maze.

“How can they keep track of who turns?” Piers asked.

“There is a very strict hierarchy to our society. It all deals with age and power, but I won’t bore you with the details. Suffice it to say we have always kept to ourselves, and that includes who is accepted. Unauthorized or accidental turnings like my own are almost always met with execution.” Steven bit his tongue at the slip, too comfortable around Piers, and too desperate to be known by him.

“Accident?” Piers echoed, “How were you an accident?”

Steven went silent for several long seconds, debating with himself over how much he wanted to disclose. Maxie was the only one that knew, well, the only human that did. For too long Steven had been the subject of gossip amongst other vampires, an aberration taken in and sheltered by one of the Elders. It had only been due to Wallace’s benevolence and status that Steven had been allowed to live, even if it meant spending eternity on the fringe of his own people.

“I mentioned ferals?” Steven asked, watching Piers nod. “If a vampire does not feed for long enough, weeks or even months, the hunger will drive them insane, like a rabid animal. It’s like a second death, and there is no hope of recovery. All they can think of is the next meal, never sated, with strength enough to make even the Elders fear.

“The vampire that turned me was a feral. Only by the grace of God did I manage to kill it, but not before it bit me.” Piers didn’t need to know all the details. “And in the struggle, I swallowed its blood.”

Steven hadn’t realized he had stopped walking, the memories pulling him back in time and away from the man at his side.

“I died. And when I awoke, I was starving beyond compare. An Elder that was hunting the thing that turned me was in a town close by, and he stopped me from committing any atrocities. He took me in, let me feed from him, and taught me everything there was to know about being… _this_.”

“You… _fed_ from another vampire?” The disgust was ripe in Piers’ voice, pulling Steven back to the present. They started waking again.

“That does sound strange I imagine,” Steven laughed but it sounded hollow even in his own ears. “Yes, and it’s not that unusual. It’s often between a patron and their ward, but more commonly between lovers. Some humans will partake to extend their own lives. So long as their lover has not fed from them within a certain amount of time the human will not turn.”

“You won’t ever catch me doin’ somethin’ like that,” Piers said firmly making Steven’s heart plummet.

“It wasn’t my first choice either. I’ve watched everyone I care about fade away, just a lingering memory too painful to think about most days.” Steven couldn’t help turning to Piers as they neared the end of the maze. “Meeting you has been the best thing that has happened since I turned. I’m so grateful you decided to stay here with us.” This time Steven allowed himself to delight in Piers’ blush, trying not to look too far into the expression.

Together they stepped out from the hedge and into the main gardens. The rose bushes were still a mess, though one of the gardeners had removed the petals and broken stems that had been scattered about.

“Since I allowed you to pry, do you mind telling me why you decided to destroy the roses? Perhaps it was the color?” Steven teased, curious above anything.

A certain look overtook Piers’ face, Steven not the only one apt to get lost in thought it seemed. There was anger, fear, and so much pain in his eyes that Steven wished he had never asked.

“Roses,” Piers spat the word like it was poison. “Remind me of someone. I hate ‘em.”

Steven didn’t press him, instead he quickly spirited him from the gardens and into the manor, hoping to bring a smile to that handsome face. Piers had explored much of the grand home in his time there, Steven just hoped he hadn’t yet stumbled upon the room where he was leading him. He pulled away from Piers to push open the double doors and let Piers wander inside. A wide grin slowly worked its way over the pale man’s face.

The music room was large, a little refuge for many of the staff as much as it was for himself. The grand piano in a corner of the room was a favorite of his, many hours idled away playing for himself or anyone willing to listen.

Piers wandered around to each instrument, his fingers ghosting reverently over the strings of the harp and cello and sitar among the many others. He went to the pair of large glass cases where every variety of woodwind imaginable sat inside waiting to be played. Piers pushed back the cover on the piano and played a few notes with a laugh that penetrated Steven’s heart.

“Do you like it?” Steven asked. “It’s yours to use however you wish.”

“I do,” Piers affirmed and pulled the cover shut over the piano keys. “But why do this for me?”

“I want you to be happy here,” Steven told him, utterly sincere. “Are you?” He felt almost childish to ask this, but if he could bring Piers even the littlest amount of pleasure it was worth it. _He_ was worth it.

Piers paused for a moment before affirming that he was.

Steven strode across the room to meet him, unable to stop himself cupping Piers’ soft cheek. “What is it? You look troubled.”

Piers reached up and touched his hand, Steven sure that he was about to be rebuffed. His heart soared when slender fingers rested against his wrist.

“I’m still not real comfortable knowin’ you drink from the staff,” Piers confided quietly, like he didn’t want to voice this concern.

Steven couldn’t help the little flirtation that slipped passed his lips. “I could drink from you if you preferred.” He couldn’t help but hope, disgusted with himself for that desire among others he dare never voice.

A frown was on Piers’ face at once and he pulled Steven’s hand away, taking a step back. “I would prefer,” Piers snapped at him, “that you didn’t drink from anyone.”

Steven went quiet. The request wasn’t entirely impossible, just difficult. Steven was certainly willing to rise to the challenge, after all he was already supplementing his diet. He would just need to add a few more meals into his daily routine.

He took up Piers’ hand and quickly kissed the back before the man could recoil from his touch. If this would make his beloved happy, he would do it.

“I promise you,” he vowed. “I won’t drink another drop.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so short, but it is an important one I feel. Also, this hurt to write.

“Please, Steven, you _need_ to drink something,” Maxie groused at his Master, following him all the way down the hall until they had reached Steven’s study and then entering it uninvited. His voice had long since gone from the usual nag to something else entirely.

“I’m fine,” Steven assured again, just as he always had.

He allowed his body to fall behind his desk, the chair catching his tired form and cradling it upright when he wasn’t sure he could manage it himself. Never in his life had he felt so weak as knives twisted inside his shriveled gut and jutted outwards making every movement, every breath a struggle.

“You are the farthest thing from fine!” Maxie snapped from across the desk.

“It’s just the change in diet,” Steven told him.

For a fortnight Steven had kept his word to Piers. Maxie had been less than pleased at the news and had called Steven foolish among other things, insisting that he couldn’t live this way. Steven had brushed off his friend’s concerns, insisting that his plan would work.

In the past he had done well to stave off his hunger with regular meals, taking his blood only once or twice a week depending on his need. It hadn’t been perfect but it had sustained him. Since cutting out blood entirely Steven had begun eating meals nearly triple in size to what he had been accustomed, but it only seemed to be slowing the inevitable. He had considered increasing the volume further, trying to balance out the intake he needed, but with winter creeping upon the manor he knew he wouldn’t be able to cut into the food stores like, not when the staff would be spending the next few months snowed in with him.

Once more assuring himself that he was fine, Steven continued. “My body just needs to adjust–”

“You’re starving yourself!” Maxie raged even as his voice broke under worry; Steven had never seen more pain on his face than in that moment. “Even if you ate every scrap in the manor it wouldn’t be enough to see you through the week! You can’t live like this!”

Much as Steven wanted to deny it, Maxie knew what he was talking about. The man had seemed to make it his mission in life to understand everything there was to know about vampires and their condition, and his medical knowledge only made him that much more formidable. Sometimes Steven doubted that the Elders even knew as much as his butler.

Guilt seized Steven’s heart when Maxie unbuttoned his sleeve and began to roll it towards his elbow. Steven reached out and stopped the man’s hands knowing he might not be able to resist, the steady flow of Maxie’s blood echoing painfully in Steven’s ears. Maxie was being stubborn, but then so was Steven, they just had different reasons for their obstinance.

“Maxie,” Steven began, the authority in his voice clear though he felt weak. “I know myself best. If I truly believe this becomes a problem then I will take appropriate measures.” Steven gave Maxie’s wrist an affectionate squeeze before telling him, “You’ve already given so much of your life to me. Please don’t waste the rest of it.”

Maxie didn’t look convinced, not entirely, but he was good enough to drop his sleeve back down and compose himself once more. There was no doubt he would breach the subject again, but for now he relented and headed towards the door to let his Master work in peace.

“I have to wonder,” Maxie began from the doorway, “if pleasing this vagabond of yours is really worth the effort. If he can’t accept you as you are than he is not worthy of your love.”

Before Steven could argue Maxie had slipped out of the room, the slam of the door indicating that this wasn’t that last he had to say on the subject.

With a deep sigh Steven turned to his work. Trade agreements, purchasing contracts, and a number of holiday charities kept his mind occupied only so well when the gnawing hunger continued to claw its way through him. Through sheer willpower he finished his work, the last of the letters sealed and neatly stacked at the corner of his desk to be delivered the next time his staff went into town.

Steven nearly doubled over when he rose from his chair. His stomach screamed at him, daggers slicing away at his middle making him huddle into himself. He was _fine_. He would get through this. He wouldn’t become some mindless beast ruled by its hunger. The pain passed, pushed down after several agonizing seconds and becoming little more than a dull roar.

He needed a distraction, anything to keep his mind free from the thought of sweet, warm nectar running down his throat. Normalcy, his daily routine he decided, would be enough for now, and he headed out of his study. Down the hall he could hear the laughter of servants, but it didn’t put a smile on his face like it normally would. He swore he could hear every beat of their hearts even at this distance, loud even over the soft twang of a guitar carrying up the stairs.

Piers. There was a thought that brought a smile to his face.

Whatever song he played called to Steven like a siren’s wail, sad and longing for companionship. Steven found himself wandering down the stairs and into the music room, the doors wide as they beckoned him inside.

The gentle song stopped though Piers’ fingers continued to strum against the guitar’s strings. He graced Steven with a smile, saying something though the mute movement of his lips. Blood rushed through Piers’ veins, the most alluring sound as it pumped through his chest with every heartbeat, muting every other sound. Steven could smell the softness of Piers’ skin, perfumed by the sweetness of blood that hid just under the surface, delectable.

The smile fell from Piers’ face. replaced by worry. He set the guitar down and approached, saying something that Steven couldn’t hear.

Heat blossomed across Steven’s tongue, a sweetness beyond anything he’s ever tasted caressed and slid down his throat, richer and finer than the most exquisite wine. What had he done?

He tore himself from Piers’ delicate throat and the ambrosia it contained. A pair of tiny punctures stared at him from Piers’ neck, all he could focus on as he stepped back and was hit by the horrifying realization of what he had done.

There was a serenity about Piers’ pale, beautiful face, unable to process the attack beyond the shock. His hand came up, touched his fingers to the holes in his throat.

“Steven…”

He fled, carrying himself with an unholy speed until Steven had reached his bedroom. He slammed the doors shut in his hurry, locking himself away from the world beyond. What a fool he had been to think he could manage this, to play at being something he wasn’t, to be worthy of Piers or his love.

Steven was a monster.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this happened somehow!!!!

For several seconds Piers was too stunned to react, let alone understand what had happened. He had been so happy to see Steven when his host had walked into the music room– Piers having left the door open with the hope that Steven’s superior hearing would bring him down, from curiosity if nothing else –but he had looked wrong. Even for a vampire Steven had been too pale, dark bags sagging under once-lustrous blue eyes that had dulled to a stone grey.

Piers had asked if Steven was alright, the words still hanging in the air when Steven had lunged. In the time it took to blink Steven had latched onto him, his grip not the deathly hold Piers would have expected, but something closer to an embrace as Steven’s arms wrapped around him and held him firm against Steven’s chest. There was a pinprick of pain and then the wet heat of Steven’s hungry mouth on his neck.

As quickly as it had happened it was over. Steven had pulled away like he had been burned, his face nothing but horror and heartbreak. Piers had wanted to go to him, tell him it was alright, that he knew it was an accident. Instead, he had stood there dumbstruck, fingers reaching up to feel for the little wound. It was nothing really, barely enough to even need a bandage. He needed to assure Steven of that.

He managed to find his voice through his shock. “Steven…”

Steven ran, faster than any mortal man could follow. A door slammed somewhere upstairs only a moment later. He was taking refuge in his bedroom, if Piers had to guess. Then that was where he would run, desperate to see his host, to reassure him.

The guilt hit him like a ton of bricks as Piers hurried up the stairs. Sure, he had seen the size of the meals that Steven had taken recently, but never did he think that Steven would actually stop drinking blood, he couldn’t have, not entirely at least. That was the only reason Piers could think of for Steven’s attack, because he was starving. Yes, Steven _had_ promised, but Piers was hardly worth keeping a promise for, and he hadn’t thought of those words as more than a passing fancy, a way for Steven to endear himself even closer to Piers heart.

“Steven!” Piers shouted as he pounded his fist against the heavy oak after he found the doors locked. The only room Piers had never been allowed access and now he needed it more than ever.

If he had a tool he was certain he could have picked the lock, and he knew he wasn’t strong enough to break down the wood, though maybe if he caused enough commotion Steven would come to check on him. Steven was always checking on him, setting time aside in a busy schedule just to visit with him, to know him no matter how much Piers resisted, not worth knowing. And Steven was killing himself for the worthless lout that had been adamantly refusing to even give him the time of day, all because it would have been too easy to fall for him if he did. Piers needed to get in there. Now.

If he couldn’t get into the room, he knew someone that could. He had no idea where Maxie might be, but he would find him. Piers was entirely fueled by fear as he rushed across the manor, knowing what he was driving Steven to become and hoping it wasn’t too late. As if the Devil himself was conspiring, Piers couldn’t find the butler no matter where he searched.

An hour later and Piers still wasn’t ready to give up, reconsidering his plan to force his way into Steven’s bedroom through less conventional means, when he finally spied Maxie in one of the upper halls. The butler’s frown was deeper than usual as he said something to Courtney, a somber look on the woman’s face. They looked up at Piers’ approach and their dour expressions darkened.

“Maxie–” His words were cut off by Maxie’s fist flying into Piers’ face.

The blow was more powerful than he would have expected from the butler and Piers fell back onto his rear, warm blood streaming down his face though nothing felt broken.

“ _You_ ,” Courtney hissed, coming forward as if she meant to lunge. If Maxie hadn’t put his arm up she very well might have attacked him.

Maxie turned to her, “Courtney, inform the others. We need to be ready to leave as soon as possible. _Go_.”

The head maid tutted, nearly growled, as she glared at Piers but relented and hurried away. The seething hate in Courtney’s expression was nothing compared to the look Maxie was leveling him with now.

“How _dare_ you,” Maxie said, his voice even and filled with ice. “Because of your selfishness, your idiotic fear, my Master has stopped feeding. He is _dying_ because of _you_.”

Piers’ fears were affirmed. The gentle, affectionate man that had been nothing but kind, had done nothing but made Piers feel welcome, _wanted_ , was killing himself over such a thoughtless request, one he hadn’t even intended to make.

It did make Piers uneasy, though much less than it had before, knowing that Steven needed to drink blood to survive. But it had made him so much more anxious when Steven had flirted with him over it, and that Piers had considered it for a brief moment. So the smart mouth that had gotten him in trouble so many times before ran away from him, making a stupid comment that should never have been taken seriously.

Maxie went on, his body shaking. “Be thankful you remain in the Master’s good graces else I would have thrown you from this house immediately for what you’ve done to him.” Maxie turned on his heel but didn’t move away. Piers got the feeling that if Maxie had looked at him any longer the butler would have struck him a second time, likely more. “You should stay in your chambers until we’re ready to leave.”

“What do you mean?” Piers asked getting to his feet and regarding the other man with caution. The ring of keys on Maxie’s hip glinted invitingly; Piers’ fingers twitched knowing Steven’s was among them. He might have been a little rusty, but it wouldn’t have been the first time he nicked something.

“Steven won’t accept help,” Maxie’s voice crackled and suddenly Piers knew why he had turned away. “He’s stubborn, and even weakened as he is, I am no match for him. I can’t force him to drink. It is no longer safe to stay here. The entire staff, and _you_ , will evacuate no later than tomorrow evening. Congratulations, Piers, he’s going to become the monster you always thought he was.”

Maxie’s words tore into him worse than any blade. Piers had screwed this all up, he already knew that, but there had to be some way to fix it. But first he would need those keys.

Piers had to be patient, not his strongest trait. He couldn’t sleep, pacing in his room all night as he went over the plan in his head, his thoughts becoming more jumbled as he thought of Steven, alone and starving, and what he might do when Piers found him. Even crazed from hunger, Steven hadn’t hurt him. Steven may have bitten him but that was nothing more than an accident, and Steven had stopped himself to pull away. He needed to tell Steven it was alright, that he had been an idiot to make such a hasty request, and then beg him to drink something.

It wasn’t until the next morning he caught Maxie in the hall. It was still early, and the butler looked surprised to see up at that hour, but the look quickly melted away to something hateful. Piers stepped to the side just slightly, making sure their paths were close enough when they passed. Like he suspected, Maxie couldn’t resist the urge to slam his shoulder into Piers’ once they were near enough to each other. Piers stumbled away, the keys grasped tight in hand so they wouldn’t jingle and alert their owner of the theft.

Piers risked a look over his shoulder and saw Maxie disappear down another hall. He took his chance and bolted down the corridor, his frantic steps cushioned by the thick rugs running over the hardwood floors.

He reached Steven’s door quickly, fitting every key into the lock until he found the one that fit and twisted it until the bolt clicked. As quietly as he could, Piers pushed the door open and slipped inside locking the door behind him.

Steven’s room was quiet, morning light filtering in and just starting to illuminate the bedroom. A king-sized, four-poster bed lay centered in the room, the curtains were drawn back and the sheets had fallen away, pulled to the ground. Steven lay huddled in them unmoving.

Fear tightened around Piers’ heart as he rushed over and crouched over the man. Stupidly, he touched Steven’s throat and searched for a pulse. He realized his mistake quickly enough and turned Steven onto his back. Steven groaned weakly but didn’t open his eyes. His breath came out in shallow pants, the fangs that had frightened Piers so badly before now gave him an idea.

Piers got up and hurried around the room to find something, anything, he could use. The bedroom was spartan, barely any personal effects or decorations outside the bare essentials. He didn’t have time to run back into the hallway, no doubt he would be caught and he wouldn’t get another chance. Without thinking Piers smashed the standing lamp beside the bed and grabbed a large shard of glass from the shattered remains, slicing it across his palm until blood rushed across his fingers. He dropped the shard and returned to Steven, shoving his hand against the man’s mouth and feeding blood into it.

Long ago he had convinced himself that God had abandoned him, or maybe had been a convenient lie, but that didn’t stop Piers from praying now. He didn’t want redemption or forgiveness he just wanted the man he loved to wake up.

“Please,” Piers begged, the blood running down the corners of Steven’s mouth, useless. “Please work, please please please…”

After a lifetime of waiting, a gentle hand came up and took Piers’ wrist, held his hand close to Steven’s mouth. Piers let out a watery chuckle feeling the warm tongue brush over his wound, the lips closing against his flesh as Steven drank from him. Piers couldn’t help but brush the hair from Steven’s brow, let his fingers touch his skin, admiring the life returning to his face as he supped on the blood.

After taking his fill, Steven let go, his blue eyes cracking open. All the warmth Piers remembered was there. Piers took his hand and cradled it against his shirt, still bleeding. Steven smiled and touched his fingers to Piers’ cheek before gently cupping his face.

“Piers,” Steven sighed dreamily as he rubbed his thumb against Piers’ cheek. His eyes fell to the little wounds on Piers’ neck and realization hit him, the memory of what he had done, and he drew his hand away as distress overtook him. “I’m so sorry–”

Piers let out a hiccup and laughed, his mouth crashing down. He could taste the blood lingering across Steven’s soft lips but he didn't care. His arm wrapped around Steven’s neck pulling him in closer and begging forgiveness between each kiss. He didn’t care if he was thrown out after this, he was just so happy to see Steven again.


	8. Chapter 8

Piers hated visiting Maxie’s office; he had already had more than his fair share of visits even before having his hand sewn up. It was a sizable room near the kitchen designed to take care of any mishaps in the manor. Mostly it was for examining and treating the staff, but a few cots had been set up for the more serious injuries. Piers looked to the empty beds and hoped that he would never be forced to spend so much time down there with the man, the day’s exam more than enough for him.

The last suture was pulled from Piers’ hand. The wound across his palm was still tender and red but it had healed enough to avoid too much concern. It hadn’t been the worst thing he had been through, and while he made no sound during the procedure, he knew his face had given away the pain and discomfort of each silk thread sliding through and out of his skin; he had a suspicion that Maxie was enjoying this after everything Piers had done.

“Can you feel this?” Maxie asked prodding around the wound with a thin metal rod that reminded Piers of a knitting needle, only blunted. “Is there any pain?”

Piers weighed his answer, the distinct feeling that Maxie wanted to do more than just poke him with that needle. He decided honesty would be best.

“A little. Not like when you stitched it,” he couldn’t help but add.

“It was the least you deserved,” Maxie remarked already applying a balm over the wound and carefully wrapping it in gauze. Despite everything, Maxie was as professional as ever, at least when he slipped into the role of doctor.

Piers sighed, “Yeah I know. At least it got Steven drinkin’ again.”

Now Maxie’s paused, his hands frozen against Piers’ after the bandaging was secured. The silence felt oppressive, almost threatening, and had Piers not been held captive he might have backed away.

“He isn’t,” Maxie finally confided and let Piers go to clean up.

Piers felt his stomach drop away and a freezing void take its place. Even after everything that had happened, after nearly becoming something terrible, Steven intended to keep that stupid vow he had made. The chilling fear gave way almost immediately to rage.

“He’s tryin’ that same shite as before?” Piers asked through clenched teeth. How dare Steven do something so stupid again? “What’s he playin’ at?”

“I can’t claim to know my Master’s mind, but I imagine he thinks it would be disloyal to you if he were to drink from anyone else now. He won’t listen to me,” Maxie remarked holding his gaze level with Piers, “but perhaps you can talk some sense into him. His next feeding should happen soon.”

A flush was creeping its way up Piers’ neck and fighting to cover his face. It didn’t quite feel like the sacrifice it would have when Piers had first come to the manor some months ago. He had already allowed Steven to feed from him once, maybe a few more times wouldn’t be so bad, just until he could convince the man to take care of himself.

Piers excused himself from Maxie’s office. He made up some excuse to leave but the knowing little smirk Maxie shot him let him know the doctor wasn’t so easily fooled.

Steven was nothing if not a creature of habit, following the same practiced routine day after day, and Piers knew that by evening his host would have been long finished with his day’s work. Piers ignored Steven’s study and instead headed straight for the master bedroom, pounding on the door with more force than was necessary. Steven’s voice called from the other side and told him to enter.

Piers barged into the room and found Steven reclined in a lush armchair, the surviving standing lamp illuminating just enough of the space to allow Steven to read whatever book was in hand. He smiled at Piers as if greeting a long-lost lover that had only just returned to him. For a moment Piers forgot his anger. His feet began to carry him towards his host of their own accord before he remembered why he was there.

He stopped partway into the room and found his words. “Why ain’t you eatin’?”

Steven had the audacity to look confused, his brow furrowed in a way that made Piers want to kiss his troubles away. No. He had to focus. It wasn’t like he had any right to approach Steven in such a way. They hadn’t discussed what had happened, the way Piers had sliced so deeply into his own hand he had risked nerve damage, or the way he had been stupid enough to kiss Steven when he had opened his eyes, over and over again like some lovestruck fool. It wasn’t as if they were even together.

“I know it makes you uncomfortable,” Steven admitted casually.

How could he be so stubborn? How could he continue to starve himself, torture himself, like this? For what, for Piers? Piers wasn’t worth the promise Steven so stupidly held onto or the attention he gave, and he certainly wasn’t worth dying for. He wasn’t worth anything and the world had shown him that all his life. Yet this bastard before him kept fighting that truth, making him feel cherished, precious and seen in a way that frightened him.

“What if I fed you?” The words were out of him before Piers could stop himself. The thought wasn’t so unappealing, but it did give way to more sinister fantasies that started playing across his mind.

For a moment Steven didn’t respond, his eyes flickering to the soft curve of Piers’ neck where his bite had long since healed. Steven wetted his lips and Piers knew he was thinking about it.

His response was so quiet and small that Piers nearly missed it. “I can’t hurt you like that again, my heart.”

Piers’ heart sang at the little declaration.

“It doesn’t have to be the neck,” Piers pleaded coming closer, taking the book that Steven had forgotten and lay it closed on the nightstand. He knelt between Steven’s legs, the position a familiar one but welcome this time, and gave Steven’s knee a reassuring squeeze. “We could do it on the wrist or somethin’.”

Steven considered Piers, taking the man’s bandaged hand and examining it with a sorrowful gaze. He lifted Pier’s fingers to his lips and kissed each one.

“You’re certain?” Steven asked.

“Yes,” Piers agreed quickly.

“I’ll only take a little,” Steven was already bargaining. It wasn’t up to debate.

“You’ll take what you need and nothin’ less,” Piers scowled. “I know you need to eat soon and you ain’t goin’ to starve on my watch, Steven.” He rose from his crouch and looked at the large bed, neatly made behind the open curtain. He stepped back and steered his thoughts away from what that mattress would have felt like under the weight of both of them.

Piers’ earlier bravado began to fall away as he looked back at Steven. “Should we do it here?”

“As long as you’re comfortable with it,” Steven replied and rose, moving to close the bedroom door before making his way towards the bed. He patted the edge and Piers settled down on it, looking at the Master of the House expectantly.

Steven kneeled before Piers as he worked the sleeve of Piers’ shirt up towards the elbow. Steven’s eyes flashed hungrily as his looked at Piers’ wrist, Steven’s fingers dancing delicate patterns over Piers’ pale skin. Piers had seen that look a thousand times before and knew what it meant, but it was welcome for the first time since he could remember.

Ever the gentleman, Steven asked once more, “Are you sure?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Piers all but heaved in anticipation.

Piers waited for the pain when Steven lowered his mouth, his lips brushing tenderly against the skin until they found the vein underneath. After several soft kisses there was a prick of pain, little more than a pinch. There was a pleasant warmth that flushed across Piers’ skin, feeling Steven begin to drink from him, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake once Steven drew away. Steven kissed the little wounds that evidenced the intimacy of their act.

“I’ll find something to wrap this with,” Steven said brushing his fingers over the bite as he stood and straightened.

Piers caught Steven’s hand before he could pull away and hoped the look in his eyes would be enough. He was suddenly shy, too much so to voice his wants. Steven was always so polite, so proper. Even if he understood what Piers was telling him there was no guarantee that the man would stoop to such a thing.

There was a moment that stretched on forever. Piers was certain that Steven was about to pull away from him, reject him and the only real desire he had ever felt for another. Steven kissed Piers’ wrist, soft, apologetic, and Piers felt his heart shatter.

“You’ll tell me if it’s too much?” Steven breathed against Piers’ skin as he kissed his way up the exposed flesh of his arm stopping only to touch the buttons of Piers’ shirt.

This couldn’t be happening. Surely this was some dark dream made real. “What?”

Steven leaned forward so their foreheads touched, letting his lips just barely ghost a kiss onto Piers’. “I don’t want to hurt you. Never again.”

Piers swallowed trying to find his voice again. Steven was so sincere it was making him melt. He had no doubt Steven was incapable of such a thing, even when overtaken by hunger he had done little to harm Piers, but he knew Steven needed that assurance.

“I’ll tell you,” Piers promised already leaning back and luring Steven down with him.

He could feel Steven relax as he crawled onto the bed and hovered over him, quickly working the buttons of Piers’ shirt free and tugging the cumbersome thing off his spindly form. Cool air brushed against his skin and Piers felt a sort of vulnerability that he never had before. So many times before he had been laid out like this for other men and he hadn’t cared, his modesty striped away long ago. Or so he thought.

Steven looked down at him with such devotion, the rest of Piers’ clothes slipping away without his notice until he lay naked on the soft bed. Gentle hands slowly mapped out every curve of his flesh until Steven had committed him to memory. He was suddenly nervous, aware of every deficiency, every flaw that marked him. Like the long scar at his waist that seemed to capture the light and glow like some hideous beacon of the past. If Steven had seen it, he didn’t ask and for that Piers was grateful.

“Perfection,” Steven whispered before leaning in and kissing Piers, searing his nerves with the tender blush it sent over his skin.

Piers wanted to argue but was distracted by the way Steven dragged his mouth across Piers’ jaw, trailing kisses towards his throat. Steven paused and ignored his neck, instead kissing along his shoulder and leading his mouth down towards his chest. His tongue swiveled playfully into Piers’ naval, making him jump a little from the unfamiliarity of such sweetness, as Steven moved even lower.

He jumped again and tried to squirm away when Steven’s mouth found that jagged line of tissue leading down to his groin. Steven gripped Piers’ hips, not at all harsh but firm enough to keep him from shying away. Piers lost count of how many times Steven kissed over that shameful mark, the tender acceptances damn near bringing him to tears. When Piers finally relaxed again Steven slipped lower, following along the scar.

A groan croaked its way out of Piers’ throat at the slow drag of Steven’s tongue along his cock, flickering against the needy head before kissing it. Steven brushed his lips down the shaft and Piers felt the feather-light scrape of a fang.

“Oi!” Piers whimpered as his hips jumped, a shiver moving up his spine. “Watch those teeth.”

Steven hummed, nearly engulfing Piers’ head with a kiss. Those sharp teeth slid over his sensitive head and made his hips snap up for more. Steven looked up at him with a cheeky grin and swirled his tongue over the weeping head. “Would you like me to stop?”

Piers reached down and gripped Steven’s head to stop him from even thinking of pulling away. His head fell back, reminding himself that Steven wouldn’t hurt him and letting himself believe it. He spread his legs wider in invitation and closed his eyes, hoping that Steven couldn’t hear the hammering of his heart.

He let himself be lost to this new sensation, reveling in it. Every little kiss, every flicker of Steven’s tongue nearly undid him. When the overwhelming heat swallowed him up whole Piers let go with a cry. Steven stroked his shaking hips and kissed along his thighs until the shallow pants evened and he lay sprawled out, greedily wanting more.

Piers crawled up the bed until he felt the pillows at his back. He crooked a finger beckoning Steven closer and he happily obliged. Once Steven was beside him Piers tore at his clothes with eager, clumsy fingers.

“Take it off,” Piers demanded ripping Steven’s shirt open and sending buttons flying.

Steven was too slow, making Piers bite and kiss at the neck and shoulder that he had exposed to his hungry mouth. He needed more of this, more of Steven and his affection, to feel his lover’s skin against his own.

“Careful,” Steven warned through a moan. He pressed Piers back just enough to strip himself down.

Piers couldn’t help touching him, the body he had once feared laying naked and perfect before him. Every inch of Steven was firm, handsome, such a stark comparison to Piers’ own body; he wanted to feel Steven with more than just the hands that roamed over him.

“No,” Steven laughed lightly and caught Piers by the shoulders. He helped Piers down to the mattress and kissed him as he climbed between Piers’ legs. The look he gave let Piers know he was asking again, one last time.

Piers leaned up to kiss him again before nodding his consent, willing himself to relax at the first push from Steven’s body. Steven was so careful, so tender, that Piers knew only the sensation of fullness instead of the pain he was accustomed to. And then he was empty again, missing the press of his lover until it came again, impossibly deeper this time. He had to close his eyes, the ardent devotion that Steven stared into them too much for him to bare.

With one hand Piers gripped the sheets, the other lacing with Steven’s as his pace increased, rocking against Piers so tenderly it almost broke him down. There were whispers above him as Piers’ leg was lifted and guided around Steven’s waist, angling his lover deeper and making his toes curl with the pleasure it wrung out of him, bringing him back to the edge.

Through the haze Piers realized that Steven was speaking. He recited poetry, words of deep devotion and the sweetest adoration tumbling from Steven’s mouth to rain down like a blessing. Never had he felt so desired, so loved, than he did in that moment and it broke him.

Piers’ face scrunched to stop the tears but it did little to stop their flow across his cheeks. He eyes shot open, his body and soul overwhelmed, arching off the bed with a throaty cry. Steven kissed the tears from his face before finding Piers’ lips, those gentle affections only quieting when Steven buried himself deeply and moaned his ecstasy into Piers’ waiting mouth.

They were slow to pull away from one another, limbs easily entangled and lips teasing, tasting each other as the glow of pleasure began to fade. Steven wrapped Piers in one arm, refusing to break their contact now that it had been made, and pulled the blankets up around them with the other. Piers fit perfectly against Steven’s chest, no longer thinking it so odd that no heart beat against his back as Steven’s arms wrapped around him and held him tight.

“Stay with me?” Steven asked against Piers’ shoulder.

Piers squeezed the arms holding him so close and nodded sleepily. “Yes.” He smiled looking out the window, seeing the first snow of the season beginning to drift down just outside as he closed his eyes again, feeling truly safe.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for being so patient for this chapter! I hope you enjoy it. :3

The bed was cold. Piers opened his eyes and winced in the bright morning light– still too early to be awake he decided –and found the space beside him empty. He wasn’t surprised that Steven had already risen for the day, but it would have been a lie to say he wasn’t a little disappointed at the empty bed. With the holidays just around the corner and so many businesses closing their doors until after the new year he would have thought Steven would spend less time working and more time relaxing, but the man was dutiful to a fault.

It was with no small amount of ire that Piers dragged himself from the bed and made it, tempted afterward to crawl onto the neatly laid sheets and blankets for a quick nap. The clock across the room struck seven times and he finished the count with a loud yawn.

His schedule had changed dramatically over the last several nights, staying up into the early hours of the morning with Steven just so they could crawl into bed together. It was a shame that Steven required so much less sleep and would often leave Piers not long after sunrise. Some mornings though Steven would stay in bed, ignoring his work in lieu of keeping Piers wrapped tightly in his arms until Piers roused himself from slumber. Unfortunately, this wasn’t one of those days. With a resigned sigh Piers readied himself for the day and headed out of their bedroom.

The manor had been quieter over the last few days. Almost the entire staff had left for the holidays to visit family and friends in the cities far beyond their mountain home. Only a few members of the staff had remained, and though they were not as friendly as they had once been, they had become considerably less icy towards him once he had moved into Steven’s room and started keeping their employer well-fed; Steven still tried to object at times but Piers would hear none of his excuses.

When Piers wandered into the kitchen for breakfast, he found Tabitha hard at work peeling a small mountain of potatoes. He gave Piers a little grin in greeting and held out a peeler for him.

“You’re up early,” Tabitha noted with a tease. “Miss the Master?” He paused for a moment and the grin grew wider. “He doesn’t make you call him that in bed, does he?”

Piers let out a bark of laugher and started skinning one of the spuds. Steven might have insisted that Piers was a guest and needn’t work, but he liked to earn his keep, finding an enjoyment in the little tasks around the manor that were so different from the life and work that he had known for the greater part of his life. “You’d hear me screamin’ it across the grounds now, wouldn’t you?”

The cook snorted with a laugh so hard that he had to step away from his task. Tabitha was always teasing, always trying to get a little rise out of the others by seeing what he could get away with. Piers could respect that, and it always made coming down to the kitchens between his work in the music room that much more interesting.

“You seen Steven this morning?” When Piers had peeked into the man’s study on his way downstairs, he had expected to find Steven working, maybe greet his lover with a little kiss before he grabbed something to eat. The room had been suspiciously empty.

Tabitha left Piers to the potatoes and wandered to the stove, cracking eggs into a bowl and mixing them loudly. “Master Steven had to go into town early,” Tabitha explained throwing some mushrooms and spinach into a skillet. “Had to finish up year-end business or something like that. Don’t know the details, if you want those ask Maxie. But…” The grin spread back over his face as he regarded Piers. “I know he won’t have more work until at least next year. Gives you two a _lot_ of free time doesn’t it? Try not to make too much noise. We still have to sleep around here.”

Piers rolled his eyes and set the last of the cleaned potatoes aside. “Sleep on the other side of the manor,” he shot back before the peeler plucked from his hands and a plate shoved in the tool’s place. A sizzling hot omelet was his reward for a job well-done.

After taking his meal, he helped Tabitha clean up, little jabs directed at each other as they worked. It almost went without notice when the manor’s entrance could be heard opening and closing from down the long corridor that led to the entry hall. He didn’t want to appear too eager. The noise could easily have been caused by one of the staff that had stayed behind, but he certainly managed to finish his task quickly, something that didn’t escape Tabitha’s attention, or his harassment.

Piers was just making his way towards the stairs when he heard something out of place. The soft cry of piano keys caught his ear and had him turning his attention to the closed doors of the music room. He had seen Maxie and Courtney practicing the violin together, and at least one maid knew her way around the large standing harp that both attracted and intimidated him, but he hadn’t seen too many others utilizing the music room, and he had spent enough time in there to know the regulars.

Curiosity compelled him to cross the entry hall and sneak open the door leading into the music room. Steven sat with his back turned to Piers as he played. His fingers floated over the keys and summoned a smooth melody that Piers hadn’t heard before. Piers couldn’t imagine how many years of practice the man had, many more than a single lifetime if he had to venture a guess.

The tune was a little too formal sounding for his tastes, but there was an undercurrent of warmth to it, something almost jovial as Steven drew out the song. Piers couldn’t help stealing inside to listen. He had never considered why Steven would have such a wide variety of instruments at his disposal, but the long life of a vampire would certainly give time enough to master them all if Steven so chose.

Steven finished up the song with a flourish of the keys before turning around with the closest thing to a smirk that Piers had ever seen on his face. Damn him. Piers was still getting used to the man’s heightened senses and realized that Steven had probably heard him coming long before he had even opened the door.

Steven closed the piano cover and slipped off the long velvet bench to make his way over. “You’re up early,” Steven observed greeting Piers with a little peck.

Piers gave a snort and a smart remark. “Bed gets cold when I’m alone,” he shot back to hide his embarrassment at being caught. When Steven’s smile turned guilty Piers redirected. “What was that you were playin’? Ain’t heard it before.”

“I’m not surprised. It’s part of a traditional Hoenn waltz called “Nature’s Trio”. That was the “Sky” portion of the song,” Steven explained. He looked around the music room and there was a sudden twinkle in his eye. He held a hand up to Piers before asking, “May I have this dance?”

Before he could think to answer Piers had taken Steven’s hand. When Steven took Piers’ other hand and was placing it on his shoulder Piers blurted in a rush, “Ain’t never danced before.”

Steven didn’t seem deterred, squeezing the hand still in his as the other dropped around to the small of Piers’ back. Piers instinctively took a step back as Steven stepped forward, Piers’ cheeks heating up as he tried to will away his nerves. This softness and intimacy, this _sincerity_ , of his first real relationship was so foreign he hardly knew what to do with it. He couldn’t help but want more.

“Just follow my lead,” Steven instructed stepping back and taking Piers with him.

Piers was keenly aware of the stiffness of his joints and how awkward he must have appeared with every step that narrowly avoided Steven’s feet. A little kiss helped to calm his nerves as Steven led him around the music room floor. Steven began to hum softly, the same song he had been playing moments before now tumbling out from behind a smile. The music wasn’t much but Piers couldn’t help but laugh and relax in Steven’s hold as he was guided around the room.

Eventually the tune stopped and so did their feet. Steven drew the hand in his up to his lips where he placed a gentle kiss on Piers’ knuckles. “Thank you for the wonderful dance.”

Piers wasn’t ready to let him go just yet, and when Steven turned to leave Piers kept hold of his hand. Steven stopped and looked back with a curious look.

For a moment Piers hesitated, a sudden shyness seizing his limbs that nearly stopped his hand from rising to the collar of his shirt and tugging it down until his neck and shoulder were exposed to the manor’s warm air, to Steven. The excitement was clear in Steven’s eyes, the hunger nearly veiled by something that made Piers shiver and want to expose more than just his neck.

Steven’s fingers grazed the flesh and traced along the vein that quickened under his touch. “You’re certain?”

Piers could only nod, not trusting whatever wanted to come out of his mouth at the second. He knew himself well enough to know that his words would be sharpened by a life of cruelty. That he could allow himself this level of vulnerability with Steven was still too new no matter how much he trusted his lover.

Steven leaned in and brushed away that stray hairs tickling Piers’ throat before wrapping his lover in an embrace and pulling Piers flush against his body. He traced the sensitive skin with his lips, leaving little kisses in their wake as they sought out the vein that pulsed ever harder with every beat of Piers’ heart. This had been the one place Steven had refused to explore on his lover, the temptation too great, and now he savored it.

Piers expected a stab of pain after the scrape of Steven’s fangs pricked his skin. There was pressure, heat, and then an explosion of something bone-deep and wonderful. His skin tingled and flushed with pleasure as Steven suckled at his neck and held him tight. Piers couldn’t help but grip his lover’s arms and try not to squirm at the unexpected rush of bliss that fluttered across his skin like a thousand kisses.

When Steven pulled away, Piers was left panting, his skin itching to be touched, to continue. He felt oddly empty, his blood on fire as he looked at the man that had done this to him. Piers had half a mind to force Steven down to the floor and climb on top when a loud knock interrupted them.

The noise came from beyond the cracked door of the music room and continued, the knock becoming an annoyed pounding as the pair continued to stand there. Steven turned to Piers and bade him to stay put as a little blush dusted his cheeks. Piers must have looked lecherous just then, his shirt pulled down, lips parted by soft pants and his body buzzing with need, and he was certain he wouldn’t be able to hide his excitement if he decided to greet their guest.

Steven left him alone in the music room giving Piers enough time to settle his nerves and will away the lingering lust; he wondered if future feedings would be the same and if he shouldn’t insist they be held in the bedroom, naked behind a locked door.

When Steven returned to him, the man was holding a letter addressed in a beautiful, scrawling hand on delicate blue stationary. Steven looked pleased but conflicted, his eyes darting between Piers and the letter.

“Piers,” Steven began, “would you do me the honor of attending a ball?”


End file.
